


Marrying away from the Mob, Chapter 2.

by shihadchick



Category: due South
Genre: Deliberate Badfic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-04-19
Updated: 2006-04-19
Packaged: 2017-10-22 08:07:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/235946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shihadchick/pseuds/shihadchick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In order to save his father's business, Benton Fraser must borrow money from a rich American named Ray Kowalski. But Ray refuses to give him the loan without a few strings attached, if you know what I mean, and Benton winds up engaged to him. Ray Vecchio finds out that his best friend is being blackmailed, and decides to save his first and only love. Little does he know that Benton's not that upset about his situation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Marrying away from the Mob, Chapter 2.

**Author's Note:**

> One line thieved gleefully from a Certain Ewan McGregor movie, and another I am compelled by cultural imperative to bastardise and include. Otherwise, badfic in all it's, uh, dubious glory, and many many thanks to pinn2480 for a prompt which was, honestly, a fucking gift. I hope I've done it some degree of justice.

Stanley Raymond Kowalski cocked his head to one side, nimble fingers tugging and fussing at his tie, watching carefully in the beveled glass of the gilt-edged mirror to check that it was sitting level and even - a habit he ruefully acknowledged was a left-over from his short-lived previous marriage.

Truth to be told, he'd be more comfortable in jeans gone thin with wear and a Bulls t shirt, but that kind of casual just didn't fly in Chicago Society, and especially not for Ray Kowalski of DolphinBoy Records, respected philanthropist, man's man, ladies' man, man about town. And certainly not at the party he was throwing at the Crystal Ballroom that evening.

Reminded, he darted a hunted glance at the expensive clock in the corner of his room (also not his taste, but it seemed an enormous waste of money and resources to redecorate again, so he'd just left everything as it was). Quarter past the hour. Greatness, plenty of time - or, well, at least twenty minutes before Renfield would come in to fuss over him and since avoiding that dire fate - yes, the man could buttle like nobody's business, which was why Ray'd hired him in the first place, but he also seemed inclined to think that that entitled him to stick his nose _into_ everyone else's business, and considering just exactly what Ray was announcing tonight, he figured there was going to be a truckload of that sentiment coming his way as it was. He wasn't precisely intending to encounter additional well-meaning advice before he even got his hands dirty, so he was aiming to avoid that prospect for as long as possible.

Deciding he'd pass muster at this point - even to Stella's exacting standards - Ray twitched one last unruly strand of hair back into 'place' and spun on his heel, tucking a small flat package into one trouser pocket as he strode towards the door. It utterly ruined the line of the cut, but as long as he got a clear run to the car before leaving he'd get away with it. Not that it'd be in there for long, if all went well.

Considering, he smacked his forehead lightly with one hand and half-turned back into the room, one hand going out to grasp the doorframe to hold his balance steady as he leant over to scrabble the free hand through the mess he'd made on the table ("It's a Queen Anne dresser, Ray" echoed a provoking voice from his past - which he ignored cheerfully) and with a hissed victory sound (now he definitely wasn't forgetting anything) he pinched a money order for seventy thousand dollars made out to one B. Fraser between thumb and forefinger. Folding the paper into thirds, he tucked it inside the royal-blue box which had been in his pocket, very carefully not thinking about his father's old warning about checks he might not be prepared to cash.

...his father hadn't exactly been talking about money, either.

* * *

Ray made his way into the ballroom, sliding through the crowd with the ease of long practice, steps light and graceful as he neatly avoided the society madams (and, more importantly, the daughters they were attempting to push off on him).

A rich divorced man in these circles had about the same life expectancy as a Porsche left unattended on the South side - one blink or two drinks too many and he'd be stripped for parts and lining the pockets of the mob. So to speak.

Catching a glimpse of the toothy eldest of Warfield's girls, Ray hid a very real grimace, and crossed his fingers mentally that his plan was going to work out.

At this point, this sham marriage was the only plan he could see having any potential of keeping that woman (and, okay, a few others, but she was the worrying one) off his back. And a hundred thou Canadian was cheap at twice the price. As if conjured up by his thoughts, Ray rounded one decorative pillar and came face to face with that self-same Canadian, once again eye-to-eye with B. Fraser.

All in all, Ray mused, plastering on an easy smile, one that made it all the way up to crinkle at the corners of his eyes, he could've done a lot worse in this venture. Silky dark hair that fell loose over the forehead, clipped short, only an inch or so taller than Ray himself and with ramrod-straight posture that suggested the opposite was true (Ray _liked_ them tall, always had) and bright, engaging blue eyes; all in all, an enviable package.

If only the man wasn't so lamentably straight.

Ray quashed that thought under a warm greeting, taking Benton's hand between both of his and playing charm to the hilt. Benton flinched a little, almost imperceptibly, at first, and Ray murmured out of the corner of his mouth, "can you not do that? Sorta gives it away." Fraser answered that with a weak smile and seemed to shake off the brief moment of reserve, gradually warming and loosening up by degrees as the other guests buzzed around them, their presence ignored completely by Ray.

"You're certain my attire is appropriate, Ray?"

There was still the last flicker of unease in Benton's voice, and Ray hastened to reassure him, "very much so, yes."

He ran an assessing eye over Benton; shoes polished to mirror-brightness, dark classic suit and a tie that matched his eyes exquisitely. The women in the shop must've been falling over themselves when he'd come in to be transformed from a plainly dressed and tired-looking bush doctor into a-- well, Ray edited, in the privacy of his own thoughts - a fucking fantasy on legs. Pun intended.

Glancing around to make sure they were mostly unobserved, Ray touched Benton's elbow lightly, drawing him out a discreet door past the buffet and into the solitude of the small room tucked in there.

Once it was just the two of them again, Ray dropped the veneer of careful speech and looked at his new partner frankly.

"You still willing to go ahead with this, Fraser? You still got a week before they close on your old man, you could maybe find someone else who'll give you easier terms." He didn't _want_ Benton to back out, but despite his hardass facade, he couldn't push the guy further than he was willing to go. On the inside, he simply wasn't that much of an asshole - but there was a certain poetry to the deal, he felt.

Benton was nodding, looking like he was trying to sculpt himself into the perfect image of resolve.

"I'm certain." He paused obviously choosing his words carefully. "I can't deny your terms are somewhat unusual - I trust you'll explain the necessity further in time - but I am willing to play along as you've requested." A pained, private expression flickered through the corners of his eyes before he went on quietly. "I have nothing left to lose, as it is." The 'not even reputation' went unspoken, but clearly all the same. Ray recited sayings about curiosity and the homicidal associations thereof to himself and managed to not push for more information, but was still a little startled when Benton raised a hand to claps his bicep warmly, intently. "I will go ahead with our agreement. And my father and I will pay you back every cent."

Drawing on the resolve which had won him management of three of the last ten years' top selling artists, Ray hid the temptation to squirm under that direct gaze and met his eyes evenly.

"Fraser-- _Benton_ , you follow through on this, you don't owe me nothing."

He could see in the mulish jut of chin that the man wanted to argue the point, but obviously decided to leave that for another time, contenting himself with a short nod before Ray continued to speak.

"So, he's the deal for tonight. You put this on," here he tugged the small box from his pocket, thumbed the catch open and tugged out the plain gold band, wiggling it between his fingertips where it caught the light, more or less brandishing it at the good doctor, "we go back out there and make nice, I make a racket onto some of their good crystal and introduce you as a longtime friend who's just returned from a stint in Africa - those vultures are gonna eat that charity medical stuff right up," Ray editorialised, without even breaking the flow of his outline, "and as such, you're now returning to North American full time, and we're free to finally commit to each other. And then I'll lay one on you in public, they'll applaud nicely while choking on it, and we get to escape quick smart."

Ray rounded that off triumphantly - this was going to work, this was totally going to work, he was _off the hook_ and, bonus, going to get at least one kiss out of the hot Canadian.

Fraser was wearing an expression that fell neatly down the middle of non-plussed and appalled. Ray wondered with not a little evil glee if his voice had actually squeaked on the last word (most undignified, and totally fucking endearing) when Benton asked with dawning comprehension, "you want me to _kiss_ you? In front of all those- here?"

"We are supposed to be engaged," Ray reminded him, sliding the ring onto Benton's finger before grinning widely, mischief dancing in his eyes. This was going to be _fun_. "You're not in the Northwest Areas now, Dr Fraser."

* * *

The surprise engagement party had gone off without a hitch. The guests had all been suitably shocked and then properly appreciative in their responses to Ray and Benton once the announcement had been made, and the two of them had turned to each other, leaning in to a warm, affectionate kiss as easily as if it was the hundredth time they'd done so and not the first. In fact, they'd fooled Ray himself, and even now he found himself wanting more. Wondering if he could possibly renegotiate their deal now that the check was tucked into Benton's breast pocket and all the papers had taken their photographs to lead off their respective gossip columns. Secretly, he was kinda looking forward to seeing what they'd come up with. God knew anything had to be better than the jokes floating around when he'd married Stella.

He'd known within minutes of meeting the man that it'd be a challenge keeping his hands off Benton Fraser when they weren't acting for the public view - he was near-sighted, not _blind_ \- but he hadn't realised it was going to be quite this hard.

Ray buried his face in his hands with a groan, settling more comfortably into his office couch, elbows resting on spread knees as he contemplated just what he'd got himself into.

There was a shift in air pressure as the door opened and closed again and Ray didn't even bother to look up. Doubtless it would be Harding Welsh, his senior advisor, his lieutenant second in command. The man was a genius when it came to working around the IRS, among other things. He'd been with Ray since the early days, and in many ways he was a kind of mentor - they often joked Welsh acted more like his boss, and God knew he was the only one with the balls to chew Ray out if he felt it necessary. After tonight, Ray was pretty sure it was necessary.

Ray growled wordlessly and lifted his chin from his hands as another body dropped heavily onto the couch beside him, the redistribution of weight rolling his thigh up against another warm length of leg. _Not_ Welsh, then. He'd known instantly at the rush of electricity that ran through him at that touch, and as he blinked his eyes open into that direct gaze, the halogen bulbs seeming far too bright he could see his own tiredness reflected there. Tough night for them both, after all that.

Grasping desperately after his cool, Ray tried on a weak grin for size, daring an accompanying pat to Benton's knee. "You did great. Thanks."

Benton gave him a solemn little grin in reply, something that hinted far more than it delivered and settled back solidly into the upholstery. And even more firmly against Ray. Jesus, didn't the man have any concept of personal space?

"You're most welcome, Ray," he replied, brushing a careless hand through his hair. Ray watched slitty-eyed and tried not to look as desperately turned-on as he felt. "It was, I must confess, a much simpler charade than I'd anticipated. And your company is certainly pleasant enough."

Ray had the feeling that actually might have nearly been some sort of an insult but wasn't feeling confrontational enough to chase it, so he let the comment slide. Probably to do with some poison Vecchio had dripped into Benton's ears previously. He'd known Fraser and Vecchio went back a way and however much he might clash with the man personally, or how he might not agree exactly on how he did his job, he'd always respected him. Grudgingly. Especially after Stella- but, no, Ray definitely respected him. Most of the time. And preferably from a distance of at least ten miles at all times.

Slumping a little more dejectedly at that thought, Ray let himself lean against Benton's shoulder more heavily, promising himself one more minute of that and then he'd ring for Renfield and have him show Benton upstairs to his room. He could handle six months of this. Easy.

Benton shifted minutely against him and it took everything Ray had not to pull away in a blinding and obvious knee-jerk reaction.

"Ray. _Ray_." He shook his head once, cracking his neck bones in an attempt to ward off the brain fog - it was obvious from Benton's tone that it wasn't the first time he'd called his name.

"Uh, yeah?" He turned a little, increasing the pressure of his knee against Benton's, making eye-contact, looking genuine and concerned and wholly as if pineapples would not melt in his mouth. "Whatcha thinking, Benton?"

"Ray, I was wondering if I might ask you a question."

Ray would've girded his loins at this point if he had the foggiest idea what that meant. It felt like it was gonna be that kind of a question. He settled for an expression of polite enquiry which he hoped didn't look too unhinged. "Sure, shoot."

"Do you find me attractive?"

"Yes."

Wait, _what_? Ray froze. He'd meant to say something flattering and dismissive about his acting ability, to wave off the oncoming heterosexual panic and keep this con running as long as possible. Apparently, his brain hadn't been paying attention to that plan and had opted for blunt honesty instead.

He was _done_ for.

He steeled himself for the inevitable pop to the head, and so it was an even bigger surprise when what landed on his jaw was a soft kiss. Full lips and a mobile mouth, and, okay, one a scale of one to being knocked unconscious, this was either a perfect ten or an amazingly good hallucination.

Ray made an inarticulate sound and fisted his hands in Benton's shirt, taking a fierce joy in the way the expensive fabric creased around his fingers, tugged him closer and chased after that hot wet mouth for himself. To Ray's delight (okay, so, probably not a hallucination then) Benton followed him willingly, making strangled hot little noises hard up against Ray's lips, skin twitching in fine tremors under Ray's hands, and when had Ray's hands made it onto bare skin? Ray figured it was best not to question these things and squirmed a little more, half-hindered and only slightly helped by the way that Benton was shifting as well, until he essentially had a lapful of Fraser, panting into his mouth as he palmed his shoulders, his back, tracing the delicate column of his spine.

"God, you're- oh, more of that, please." Ray's own voice was none too steady as Benton's teeth tugged at his earlobe, as he lathered open-mouthed kisses down the side of his neck, biting at his jaw. Ray shuddered and thought, what the hell, we're guys, and slid one hand underneath Benton's waistband, appreciating anew the curve of his backside. And, hrm, the complete and total lack of underwear. That was a thought Ray was willing to explore further.

They were kissing again by the time Benton got Ray's own shirt undone, exchanging the briefest of reassurances around Ray fastening onto Benton's lower lip, worrying it just hard enough, and it enough for them both to hear "do you-?" and "yes, I'm _sure_ , Ray, don't _stop_ " and apparently, yes, sex was on the menu, and some indeterminate period of time later (sweaty, shoulders moving restless with both arousal and exertion) Benton had Ray's trousers unzipped and somewhere down around his ankles, not long after that for Ray's head to be tipping back over the head of the couch as he arched under Benton's hands, under the ripple of his breath and the slow, torturous, exploratory licks he made of every scrap of skin he could reach.

Ray came with a low moan of warning and slumped utterly boneless for all of about fifteen seconds before slamming together enough energy to roll over and pin Benton on his back, wiping that shy look that was enough to tell him that, yes, he _had_ been worried that Ray didn't feel comfortably reciprocating right off his face as he ruthlessly stripped the pants off him, balling them up and tossing them in the general direction of the table before his thumbs were making intimate with Benton's hips, holding him steady while his fingers swept brief arcs into the flesh of his sides, while Ray squirmed and tilted until he was in position to nuzzle at the crook of Benton's knee, nipping his way along one sparsely-haired thigh before licking broad, flat sweeps of his tongue down the crease where his leg met groin, chin bumping Benton's cock and making him hiss before Ray took pity and swallowed him as far down as he could. His misspent youth in the recording industry sure had been good for some things.

Benton had bucked satisfyingly under his hands and mouth as he came, making Ray think dangerous thoughts about just where else they could take this partnership, if this was to be the way of it, and quite naturally, he wriggled up beside Benton afterward, stretching out on the couch and breathing hard, fingers still idly scratching over the perfectly edible curve of Benton's hip.

"If that's what we can do now," Ray mused out loud, kinda talking into the side of Benton's hair, "God, I can't wait to see what you're like on the Wedding night."

In hindsight, that right there was his mistake.


End file.
